


Words on a String

by MeetMeAtTheBarricade



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Family Drama, First Kiss, Love, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 16:05:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17625491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeetMeAtTheBarricade/pseuds/MeetMeAtTheBarricade
Summary: Enjolras doesn't get poetry.





	Words on a String

**Author's Note:**

> Slight mention of abuse, suicide, drug/alcohol abuse, bullying, anorexia.

Enjolras doesn’t get poetry.

Maybe it’s because he listened to his aunt’s blackhearted husband recite it far too many times after she’s thrown him out after he has hit her. She takes him back every time, after every stupid, rhyming refrain. Enjolras just stuffs his hands in his pockets every time his sister says how romantic it is. 

He just doesn’t get the metaphors. He doesn’t get how you can say one thing but mean something else entirely. Like how his father says “I’ll be in my office if you need anything.” but what he really means is don’t bother me I’m with another woman, don’t tell your mother. 

Enjolras doesn’t understand similes. How can anything be anything other than what it is? Like when his older sister overdosed on booze and pills, how was it anything other than suicide? How can he even look Grantaire in the eye when the boy says it’s just for fun? 

Enjolras doesn’t get disguising truths with pretty words. He doesn’t get why the world would hate one of his very best friends Courfeyrac just because he is gay. He doesn’t get why a God that says do not judge has worshippers who do just that. 

Enjolras just doesn’t get poetry. Maybe because high school tried to shove rhyming phrases that didn’t mean a goddamn thing down his throat. He doesn’t get what someone as amazing as Jehan Prouvaire sees in poetry. 

Enjolras knows more than anyone how important words are. He knows how much words can hurt. Like when those kids called Jehan a faggot because he wears his hair in a braid. They didn’t know how much their words hurt when Jehan couldn’t stop crying on Enjolras’ shoulder. Those kids didn’t see how Enjolras had to wrench the scissors from Jehan’s hands. 

Enjolras knows words can hurt. His family always said how skinny he is and now Enjolras doesn’t know who he is if he’s not skinny. His family doesn’t notice the way he stands in front of a mirror or the way he just picks at his plate without actually eating anything. 

Enjolras doesn’t always understand the words that come out of Jehan’s mouth but he knows they are beautiful. That’s why he broke his hand on that boy’s nose when he made fun of Jehan’s poetry. 

Enjolras doesn’t get poetry maybe that’s why he’s confused when Jehan is reading his poetry assignment with his jaw dropped open. 

“Enjolras!”

“What?”

“This is amazing! You’ve never said anything about liking poetry.”

“That’s because I don’t, except for yours.”

“How can you not like poetry when you’re so good at it?”

“It’s just words on paper Jehan.”

“What do you think poetry is Enjolras?”

Enjolras shrugged at that. He doesn’t get poetry so he doesn’t understand how anything he wrote could be considered good by Jehan but it made him feel nice. 

“I visited your  
grave, I had to  
clean off the  
cigarette butts.

Why can’t he  
ever leave  
flowers?”

Jehan read it out loud.

“I just wrote what I saw.”

“That’s what poetry is. It’s what you see with your heart.”

They laughed. “That’s sounded a little cliched didn’t it?” asked Jehan. 

“A little bit.”

“I mean it Enjolras. I like it. Is this the first poem you’ve ever written?”

“Sort of. I mean I wrote one for my mom in third grade but it wasn’t good.”

“Who told you that?” asked Jehan leaning forward as if this was the first sincere conversation they’ve had. It wasn’t. 

Enjolras shrugged again. 

“Hey.”

“What?”

“We should make a poetry club.”

“What?”

“Yeah. It will be me. And you. It will be us and we’ll just swap poems.”

“You really liked it that much?”

“Yeah Enjolras. I mean you’re great at writing speeches. You make people feel, why can’t your poetry do that?”

“I always thought of poetry as something that has to rhyme.”

Jehan’s face grew furious, “That’s just a lie your teachers tell you in grade school.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Jehan repeated. His lips were getting closer and closer. 

Enjolras didn’t know what pretty looked like but if he had to guess being pretty looked like Jehan. It looked like being sincere and having long braided hair with flowers woven in it. It looked like green mossy eyes, and lightly speckled cheeks. Enjolras leaned in and so did Jehan. They kissed. 

Enjolras isn’t sure he gets poetry but he gets Jehan and he’s pretty sure that’s better.


End file.
